


We Share The Same Affliction (Everybody’s Gotta Breathe)

by orphan_account



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes
Genre: Depression, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, patrick trying to get vickys attention falls in love w pete, very minimal patrick/vicky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: And perhaps it’s easier like this, easier to hold your thoughts in and get in your car, drive far away from your mind and drive to your heart. Home is where the heart is, and sometimes Patrick’s heart is in Kentucky, or Milwaukee, or perhaps the Georgia Aquarium, because his heart lies with Fall Out Boy, and wherever Fall Out Boy goes, Patrick knows he is home.The one where Patrick loves with his head.





	We Share The Same Affliction (Everybody’s Gotta Breathe)

**Author's Note:**

> title from deluge by closure in moscow. something i made up while on write or die with a grace period of 1 second; essentially free-association fan fiction. if paragraphs seem to jump subjects, that is why. unbeta-ed as always, and peterick as always. thanks for reading

The heart is beguiling to Patrick. He puts heart into his work, into every little melody he puts together for Pete. Heart goes into his singing, his cooking, his showering, everything he does. He doesn’t know what powers his heart, what encourages it to get off its ass and work, but he isn’t a quitter, and if everything needs an explanation to be real, how would you explain dreams, or hiccups?

 

“You can choose the music,” he tells Pete, “but no Kelis, no Backstreet Boys, no Madonna, and goddamn it, no Spice Girls.” He would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy that trip, just him and Pete listening to No Strings Attached. Patrick is nothing if not a loyal supporter of Joey Fatone, and as long as Pete’s happy, he’ll tolerate most of his synthesized bullshit. Plus, what kind of man can get through “It’s Gonna Be Me” and stay silent?

 

He doesn’t sleep often. He spends nights tapping his foot away to some beat he can’t get out of his head, heart, soul. Patrick wonders if blondes have more fun. He isn’t sure, but if what’s on his driver’s license is correct, somebody has got to be more miserable than him, and that’s startling on more than a few levels. Pete once said to him that with time, pain dissolves like acid on your tongue. A few seconds of something you need, and you’ll be better in no time. Patrick wonders if he does that to anyone. Maybe, if he was a little thinner and could figure out what to say or when to say it.

 

For example, Patrick knows what he shouldn’t say. He shouldn’t say the n-word, he shouldn’t ask women their age. Those two are easy. But some are harder than that. He isn’t sure if he’s allowed to ask someone for help, or if it was alright to say he isn’t doing okay. Not to say he isn’t doing okay, because by his standards, he’s doing just fine. When he thinks about it, it makes his head hurt, because the last time he held everything in like this, he filled up with all those thoughts, he was a balloon, floating on nothing but 30mg Prozac and things he told no one, not even Pete.

 

And perhaps it’s easier like this, easier to hold your thoughts in and get in your car, drive far away from your mind and drive to your heart. Home is where the heart is, and sometimes Patrick’s heart is in Kentucky, or Milwaukee, or perhaps the Georgia Aquarium, because his heart lies with Fall Out Boy, and wherever Fall Out Boy goes, Patrick knows he is home.

 

Back to the present, and Patrick’s heart is in New York.

 

Gabe is five seconds away from driving Patrick crazy. In fact, if he was a different kind of man, Patrick wouldn’t see much wrong with punching him in the face right now.

 

“Hey, hey Stumpy, what’s a Jedi’s favorite food?” Patrick thinks he already knows the answer.

 

“I don’t know, Gabe, what’s a Jedi’s favorite food?”

 

“Obi-Wan Cannoli.” Yeah, it was bound to be something like that.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, can we work on the record? Okay, listen, dude, what if we did it like, F-A-K-E-B-double-O-B-S?” It’s been several months of this, and Patrick doesn’t see himself getting away from it anytime soon. Maybe if he got in his car and drove away. He’d ignore all his calls and fade out of existence. It would be more fulfilling.

 

“I don’t know, dude,” Gabe replies lazily, “I kinda wanna, like, take a break. Then, maybe, we’d be in more of a working mindset.”

 

Patrick agrees wholeheartedly, along with the rest of the group. And yet, the album is due to the label in two weeks. No breaks. But, Patrick’s not a complete monster.

 

“Sure, fucking take a break, guys. Just go drink or whatever, if it makes you happy. Get your kicks,” he reluctantly decides.

 

They file out, each offering their goodbyes and thank yous. Patrick gazes at Victoria, ocean eyes unmoving as she walks out. Maybe in another life he’d be with her, dark hair and cold eyes. She fueled most of his fantasies, so he had jumped at the opportunity to produce for Cobra. It seemed that perhaps she wasn’t as interested in him as he was in her. Perhaps he wasn’t made for love, or care, or anything of that sort. He often thought of himself as the professor from the Eddie Murphy movies. Maybe Victoria wasn’t meant to be Jada Pinkett.

 

He stops her before she can leave. “I love you,” he says, unapologetically.

 

“I know,” she replies without hesitation, walking out of the room before he can protest.

 

Patrick wears his heart on his sleeve, and it seems that nowadays, people will do just about anything to rip it off.

 

The walk to his hotel room is a trek through Hell on broken glass. Misery is on the television, and Patrick wonders if any of his fans are like Kathy Bates. Maybe. He figures getting his feet bashed in with a sledgehammer would hurt less than the pain in his chest.

 

Travis McCoy seems to live with a permanent pair of headphones and a Sidekick super-glued to his hand, because he texts back immediately. It’s all swear words and abbreviations with this one, but he’s a keeper. He always knows when he’s about to cross the line, and possesses an unruly awareness of his own mortality. Who else could Patrick call a friend?

 

Travie is with Katy today, Patrick knows this. He voices his girl troubles in the middle of their date and yet Travie still finds time to respond. He almost feels bad.

 

[6:46] Travis

[6:46] I talled to Victoria

[6:46] Talked**

[6:47] Need help please

 

[6:47] she sed no??

 

[6:48] In a way

 

[6:48] wht do u mean whad she say

 

Patrick doesn’t text back. He’ll pass it off as an “I forgot” or “I was busy”. Right now, he’s focusing on himself. Not on her, or Travie, or anyone. He has read things in Cosmopolitan about what guys should do to attract women. He decides to console himself with a fake girlfriend. Is that what Cosmo said? He thinks so.

 

[6:51] Pete

[6:52] This may sound a little weird but can you help me w/ something?

[6:52] I think I wanna give us a shot

**Author's Note:**

> same time next week?


End file.
